Phantom Judgement
by CynthiaW
Summary: At the end of "A Ghost in Middle-earth", Danny encountered formidable enemies. What happened to them afterwards?
1. Chapter 1

Phantom Judgement

Summary: At the end of "A Ghost in Middle-earth", Danny encountered formidable enemies. What happened to them afterwards?

Disclaimer: I do not own either _The Silmarillion_ or _Danny Phantom_.

A/N: This story takes place in Middle-earth's Second Age, in the year 1697, after the fall of Eregion. The description of Arda's geography is based on a map released with a pdf text of _The Lord of the Rings_.

Chapter 1

The world of Arda, from earliest antiquity, consists of two continents separated by a single ocean. The closest they come to each other is in the far North, where they are connected by a bridge called the Grinding Ice. The Eastern, and larger, continent is Middle-earth, where Mortals dwell. The Western, and smaller, continent is Valinor. The continents are surrounded by the Encircling Seas. Valinor, known to those in Middle-earth as the Undying Lands, is inhabited on the East coast by the majority of Elves in Arda. The rest of the continent is broken up into the vast lands utilized by angelic beings called the Valar and Maiar.

On the extreme Western edge of Valinor (not far from the shores of the Encircling Seas), stand the Halls of Mandos. To these Halls, all Races go when they die, to rest before moving on to whatever Fate awaits them. The ruler of these Halls is the Vala Námo, the Doomsman of the Valar, commonly known as Mandos. His wife is Vairë the Weaver. She weaves tapestries of events in Arda's history. Her tapestries decorate the vast Halls, which expand throughout the millennia.

* * *

><p>Námo walked through his Halls, pondering the vast History of Arda. He lingered in a Hall containing the tapestries of the War of the Elves and Sauron in the Second Age of the Sun. As he neared the end of the Hall, Námo found his wife Vairë, hanging a newly completed tapestry.<p>

Vairë turned to face her husband when she was satisfied it hung as she desired. "I have completed the tapestry of the end of the war, Námo. A pity it had to end so."

They studied the image at the bottom: a great city in flames, its inhabitants either fleeing or captured. Námo sighed. "The loss of life need not have been so great. More Elves could have been saved."

Vairë nodded sadly. "The people of Ost-in-Edhil _knew_ they were in danger months before Sauron attacked. Glorfindel, as in Gondolin, tried to save the noncombatants. Elrond, like his grandmother, worked to make sure they would be able to escape. But Celebrimbor was more like to Elrond's great-grandfather, refusing to see the danger before it was too late."

Námo was silent for several moments before speaking. "The Lord of Eregion inherited a great part of his own grandfather's, Fëanor's, pride. That pride enabled him to stand up to his father after Beren and Lúthien passed through Nargothrond on the Quest for the Silmarils. But it also kept him from accepting that the work he had done in Ost-in-Edhil was about to be destroyed.

"After everything he has experienced, he will now find rest in contemplation. And he will reunite with his eldest uncle, Maedhros, with whom he will have a great deal to discuss. Maedhros shows great promise in progressing towards his eventual rebirth, unlike his five younger brothers."

Vairë turned in surprise. "Maglor has not yet joined us? He also repented at the last, and he is the last of Fëanor's sons to survive the ancient Wars."

Námo shook his head. "Not yet. It will be many years yet before he is ready to leave Middle-earth. He will either sail, or fade from grief. But Maedhros and Celebrimbor will welcome him when they reunite."

Vairë nodded, then turned when she saw a large clock appear out of the corner of one eye. Signing to Námo, she watched as the hands of the clock spun faster and faster.

Both Valar waited as the clock became a blue, glowing portal, and an old, bearded man emerged. He wore a cloak secured by a gear-shaped cloak pin and three timepieces on his wrist, and he bore a staff surmounted with a clock. His torso was the inner workings of a grandfather clock. Instead of legs, he had a tail. His eyes were entirely red, without pupils or whites, the left eye crossed by a scar.

Námo nodded in greeting. "Clockwork, my old friend. It has been some time since your last visit." Vairë smirked in amusement. While the people in these tapestries would have taken it literally, the three beings present were above time.

Clockwork drifted down, so as to be on eye-level with the Vala. "Yes, it has. I have been very busy with my newest young charge."

Vairë smiled. "Yes, I recall the discussion from your last visit. How is it with him?"

Clockwork changed into child form. "He is well. He visited Middle-earth not long ago."

A confused look crossed Vairë's face before she turned to the tapestry she had just hung. Examining it, she found an image near the top that explained the ghost's comment. "Oh, yes, of course. The events over those two weeks were quite unusual."

Clockwork smiled. "For Arda, perhaps." He studied the tapestry. "It is because of Danny's visit that I came to see you."

Námo raised an eyebrow. "Oh? For what purpose?"

The Master of Time turned to face Námo, changing into young man form. "I believe you are missing some _fëar_."

The Doomsman considered the statement. "Yes. I am missing quite a few. Many Elves have refused the Summons. But you appear to have very specific _fëar_ in mind."

Clockwork withdrew a silver and green container from the folds of his cloak. "I do, indeed, have specific _fëar_ in mind. Young Danny captured them toward the end of his visit, when they possessed, and attempted to take over, his friends." He pulled the cap off, pointed the open end to a space in front of the two Valar, and pressed a button on the side. A blue light shot out, coalescing into four dark-haired Elven warriors. Stunned, the four elves could only look around them in awe.

Vairë's eyes widened. "Thangrod, Tarmafuin, Thîwdín, and Aragon. I am glad to see them here at last." She turned to Clockwork. "Thank you for bringing them, old friend. And thank Danny for us, as well."

Námo turned his stern gaze on the elves, who were only now realizing where they were. "I hope you are ready to explain yourselves."

* * *

><p>Glossary<p>

Ost-in-Edhil-(S) Fortress of the Elves. The capital city of the Realm of Eregion, a place that disappeared in the Second Age. Danny visited this city when he came to Middle-earth.

Nargothrond - (S) The Great Underground Fortress on the River Narog. An Elven city destroyed in the First Age.

Gondolin - (S) The Hidden Rock. An Elven city destroyed in the First Age. King Turgon's hidden city. Glorfindel lived there, and died protecting the Elves as they left it.

_fëar_ - (S) spirits. Singular _fëa_. It includes a person's memories and personality, much like a soul.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I apologize for not updating for so long. I have no good excuse. I will simply offer you all chocolate, apples, and honey. I hope you enjoy it and this new chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Silmarillion_, _Danny Phantom_, or Tolkien's _Legendarium_.

Chapter 2

As soon as the portal closed behind Clockwork, Námo turned to face the four elves the ghost had brought to him. "It has been a long time since your deaths. That you not only refused my Summons, but had to be _brought_ to me, is most disturbing."

The Vala now studied the four elves. Aragon and Thîwdín were particularly embarrassed. Tarmafuin and Thangrod were completely unrepentant, but unhappy at being caught. Námo continued, studying the four _fëar_ as he spoke. "Now that you are here, it is time for you to face that which you tried so hard to avoid." He paused for a second. "Your time of Judgement is at hand. I will speak with each of you privately. Aragon," the named elf looked up with fear in his eyes, "you will be first. Come with me. The rest of you will await me here. Vairë, if you have no objection..." He indicated the elves as he turned to leave. Vairë nodded in assent.

* * *

><p>Nervously, Aragon followed Námo. The other three elves watched him anxiously, Vairë standing nearby, watching them with an icy expression on her face.<p>

In another hall, Námo stopped and turned to Aragon. He indicated the walls, lined with tapestries like the others. "Aragon, these are your tapestries. They tell your story. Now, you have a choice. Either you narrate them, or I will."

Aragon looked at the Vala in trepidation. "What is the difference?"

Námo studied the tapestries a moment before returning his gaze to the elf. "The tapestries are an objective telling of the events. If you narrate, I shall hear your perspective of the events. If I narrate, you may not like the perspective I choose."

Aragon considered this and nodded. "I will narrate. Where shall I begin?"

Námo simply waved his arm around the room. "Wherever you wish. It is your story."

Aragon gulped before heading to the tapestry to the immediate left of the door they had entered through. "Well, I was raised in Tirion. I was a good child, for the most part. I was obedient to my parents and instructors. Though, I probably should not have done _that_ to my friend." He indicated a scene near the top of the tapestry, wincing at what it depicted. "It was just a prank, but it was a stupid thing to do.

"Overall, life was good. I trained many young elves in archery. As I was one of the finest archers in Tirion, Prince Fëanor requested that I be the one to train his sons. They were all apt pupils, but Maedhros, the eldest, was the quickest to pick up what I taught him. It was a delight to teach him. His brothers had other interests that occupied more of their time, though they also were good pupils.

"My proudest moment was being chosen to serve in Prince Maedhros's retinue." Aragon straightened in pride as he remembered. "I served with distinction, and my superiors spoke well of me. For long, my duties were relatively light. I was a great favorite to be invited on hunting parties and teaching young ones. Malice was unknown under the Light of the Two Trees. My service as a soldier was, as yet, unneeded.

"I was married shortly after Maglor, Fëanor's second son, became my pupil. My wife Kalwen also served Prince Maedhros, but she was a seamstress and music instructor. She was particularly fond of playing the harp, and taught many children to play. My daughter Minyamírë was born when Caranthir, Fëanor's fourth son, joined his brothers' lessons. My son Fimthalion was added to me* just before Amrod and Amras, Fëanor's youngest sons, began their lessons.

"Both of my children excelled in their lessons. Minyamírë preferred pottery. She made exquisite pieces that often were favored by the lords to use in their homes. Fimthalion became a hunter, and served under me in Maedhros' retinue. He was also an excellent archer, having been one of the best students I had in his class."

Námo nodded at this recitation. "I can see you were an excellent father and instructor. You also served Fëanor's family well in those early years." Aragon straightened a bit at his words, his fear fading somewhat as his accomplishments were recognized. The Vala continued, "However, Morgoth's return changed things quite a bit. Why don't you tell me about this one?" He indicated the third tapestry from the corner they had reached during Aragon's recitation.

Aragon sighed. That should have been expected. That was where the trouble all began! He walked to the indicated tapestry. "You have to understand: when Morgoth was released, we actually paid little attention to him. We were ordered to refuse him admittance to the workshops, though I heard that he offered great knowledge to those who would listen.

"Some time after the Silmarils were made, I began to hear rumors of the vast realms that could be found in Middle-earth, and that the Valar were envious of what we could do there."

Námo crossed his arms and interrupted the elf. "Excuse me? Why should _we_ be envious of you? Our relationship to you as your instructors was _nothing_ like the relationship between instructor and student among the Elves. Surely _you_ were aware of that?"

Aragon blushed and winced at the reminder. "Yes. I should have remembered that. But it was not entirely my fault. It hardly excuses my actions, but you must understand, Prince Fëanor had begun to speak openly against the Valar. His anger was terrifying to behold at such times." Aragon looked at Námo sheepishly. "He was a very persuasive speaker. I realize, now, that he was wrong. But, at the time, he made so much sense."

Námo sighed. "Fëanor was, indeed, a powerful speaker. When he felt strongly, few could argue effectively with him and _not_ be persuaded by him."

Aragon nodded. "So I heard from those who worked the smithies with him." He took a breath. "In any case, not long after, we were gathered outside the home of King Finwë, while the lords met. Prince Fëanor came storming in, in full armor, looking ready to hurt someone. Within moments, Prince Fingolfin, the elder of Fëanor's younger half-brothers, emerged. Fëanor followed, still furious, and threatened to kill his half-brother with his sword if he made further attempts to usurp his place in their father's heart. This outburst led to us learning that Morgoth had begun the rumors we had been hearing.

"Prince Fëanor was banished from Tirion for twelve years because of his threats. As his sons joined him in exile, I felt it to be my duty to go into exile with them. My daughter had since married, and chose to stay in Tirion with her husband. My son, who served in Maedhros' retinue with me, as well as my beloved wife, chose to go with me as we followed Prince Fëanor. We built a great fortress to the North, which we called Formenos. We stored the many jewels and weapons the craftsmen had made in a great vault, the Silmarils kept inside a chamber of iron.

"Morgoth could not be found after his lies were revealed, so naught was known of him until he came to Formenos. I was on guard at the gate that day, when he asked to speak to Fëanor privately. It was not my place to refuse, and so I sent for the Prince. The conversation they had was very short. Fëanor sent him away in anger. In great fear of what this portended, we immediately sent a message to Manwë, informing him of what had happened."

Námo interrupted. "Yes. I remember that. Of all the ill-conceived notions to come from that House, this was the most responsible reaction of Fëanor during your lifetime."

Aragon sighed in minute relief. It was good to hear from the Vala himself that at least _one_ decision of the House which he followed was meritorious. He picked up his thread from where he left off.

"Training increased after that, as we did not know when, or in what manner, Morgoth might return. As time passed with no further word of what Morgoth was doing, we settled into a more normal routine. Most of my time was spent in training the newer warriors in the princes' retinues. Being widely acknowledged by all in Formenos as one of the best, I was often asked to assist all of the commanders where my own schedule permitted.

"That year, when the harvest came, Manwë declared a time of festival and summoned Fëanor to Taniquetil to speak to Fingolfin. Fëanor decided that, as he alone was summoned, he would go alone to face his brother. King Finwë was uninterested in going, and had no orders regarding the summons. So, we remained behind when Fëanor went to appear before Manwë.

"It was hours later that the worst happened." Aragon looked down at the floor in sorrow. "Sudden darkness struck, and Morgoth returned to Formenos while we were trying to find out what had happened. A great Darkness came with him, and he slew the King, who alone of all of us would not flee from the Dark. Morgoth then broke into the treasury and took all of the jewels therein, including the Silmarils.

"Fëanor returned to Formenos in grief and rage for what had happened when the news reached him. He gathered everyone together and led us back to Tirion so he could speak to all of the Noldor together. We were all so grief-stricken over the death of King Finwë, none of us objected to his rebellion. His ban had not yet been lifted, so he was not permitted back in Tirion. We followed him back, and he summoned everyone to the high court on the hill of Túna, at the heart of the city.

"His speech in the darkness, after the death of the Two Trees, inflamed our hearts. His own grief and madness stirred us all to madness. I, myself, could almost imagine the great victories to come in battles yet unfought. Dreams of great deeds in the vast lands across the Sea overwhelmed all reason.

"We should not have left for Middle-earth. I see that now. But I only wanted to continue to serve my king and his sons. I followed them out of duty. Yes, also of greed for what the Race of Men might take possession of, but primarily of duty to my king and to Maedhros."

Námo nodded. "From all you have said, you were very loyal to your lords. Your decision to leave Valinor was not the best judgement call, but it was not the worst, either."

Aragon found himself thankful for choosing to tell his story himself. Objectively, he knew now that following Fëanor and his sons East was a bad idea. But after hearing Aragon's perspective on the matter, the Vala decided there were mitigating factors and determined that his bad choice was not as disastrous as it might have been thought of otherwise.

His beloved wife Kalwen would need no such mitigation. She was against leaving Valinor from the beginning, and only came to be with him. He was thankful for her support and hoped she had fared well in her Judgement.

Námo moved on. "Now, perhaps you should explain _this_." The Vala indicated a new scene.

Aragon blanched. How could he _possibly_ explain the Kinslaying as anything other than the horrific evil it was? "Well... I was marching at the rear of Fëanor's host. I arrived after the fighting had already begun. All I saw was Elf fighting Elf, Elves wearing the livery of the Teleri fighting Elves wearing the livery of my king. I knew not the cause. I followed my orders. It was not until after the fighting ended that I realized the battle was nothing less than Kinslaying."

The elf gulped hard, as the true horror of what he had participated in was too difficult for him to stomach. And it was worse once his own words describing the event came to his own ears.

"I should have returned to Valinor, then. But I feared the doom I would likely face for my part in what had happened. And I still wished to serve Maedhros, who was set on following his father still."

Námo made a noncommittal noise, crossed the room, pointed at a new scene, and said, "And this?"

Aragon walked over to the indicated tapestry. Námo had skipped over several hundred years and a number of major events. The tapestry itself was the last but one in the room. The elf paled a bit, then steeled himself, as he found it highly disturbing to discuss his own death. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"Well, Maedhros was inspired by Beren's recovery of one of the Silmarils. If Beren could recover one of the Silmarils, so could we. He organized as many of our allies as he could convince to join us into a force to attack Morgoth's fortress. Unfortunately, the Easterlings that had allied with us delayed us with talk of an assault from the Enemy. By the time we arrived, the battle was raging in progress. Our arrival turned the tides of battle, and we _could_ have won.

"That was when the dragons were unleashed. And then, the Easterlings turned on us. We were caught between enemy forces. The Men fighting on our rear nearly overwhelmed us. I fought to protect Maedhros in the confusion they wrought. I died protecting Maedhros, and gave him the chance to escape the slaughter." He looked down sadly for a moment, then straightened up proudly. "I died protecting my beloved Prince Maedhros in the fight against Morgoth."

Námo considered the elf before him and nodded. "I congratulate you for protecting your lord so well. You kept him safe, and died to do so." Aragon brightened at this. "However, you _still_ refused my Summons to my Halls." The elf wilted a bit. The Vala now pointed to the final tapestry. "You appear to have behaved well for most of the millennia since you died. Perhaps you would like to explain why you participated in this." He pointed to the bottom panels.

There was _no way _to justify his participation in the most heinous act possible for a Houseless _fëa_: invading and attempting to steal the body of a living Elf. It wasn't bad enough that Aragon did it on his own, but he helped three others conspire to do the same.

Ashamed, he hoped there might be some mitigating factor, though he couldn't guess what that might be. However, as with explaining his role in the Kinslaying, simply telling the truth might... Well, it wouldn't be enough, but it was all he had.

He looked to Námo as he would attempt to plead his hopeless case. He sighed and began. "Initially, I merely wished to chide Thangrod and the others for their ambition. They wished to steal feathers that were never theirs." He rolled his eyes in remembered annoyance. "They all sought the lives of lords and princes, positions none of them had ever earned in any way. But once the idea of acquiring it came to mind, the desire for a body of my own was quite strong. So I did not object when Thangrod said his plans were in earnest. I was even willing to go with them, though I had to restrain Tarmafuin's desire to take Celebrimbor before it was clear where the _adan_ was.

"The elf I chose had exactly what I wished for. He was strong, a skilled fighter, and even taught children. I would have been able to pick up where I had left off when I died. When that dratted _adan_ child threw me out, I simply sought out another soldier. But the child prevented me from selecting another. And that strange device he took out held me prisoner." Aragon shook his head in embarrassment. "Perhaps, I should be more concerned that a mere child could see the way of Light and Truth more clearly than I."

Námo raised an eyebrow at this. "Had you simply answered the Summons, you would have been reborn and had your own body back by now." Aragon blushed at this reminder of how badly he had acted.

"Given that you have mostly done well in both life and death, and given that you repent of your evil deeds, I shall give you my Judgement: You will spend the next 200 Years of the Sun here in the Halls of Mandos, contemplating your life and considering how you wish to live your life after rebirth."

Aragon bowed his head in acknowledgment. "Thank you for your mercy, Námo."

The Vala studied Aragon a moment. "You should thank yourself, for being forthright and honest with me."

Aragon nodded. "That is true, but I thank you nonetheless."

Námo smiled gently. "You are welcome. I will leave you to your contemplation. When I conclude my Judgment of your compatriots, I shall have Vairë bring you refreshments."

"Thank you, once again, for your kindness." Aragon closed his eyes. He knew he deserved no better, but still, he had to ask. "I accept my fate. Two hundred Years of the Sun of contemplation. Am I to be... alone? Two hundred years is no time at all to an Elf. But 200 years alone is a great deal of time."

"No. You shall not be entirely alone. Both Vairë and I will spend time visiting with you. How often will yet be determined."

Aragon sighed with true relief. "Thank you, once again, for your great mercy, Námo."

And with that, the Vala left the _fëa_ in contemplation.

* Yes, I know this phrasing seems odd. Miriam1 told me when she read it. But this is how Elves speak about their children, according to Tolkien's _Legendarium_.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this fic. I offer chocolate roses to all of you.

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Silmarillion_ or _Danny Phantom_.

Chapter 3

Námo returned to the hall where he had left the other three elves. Vairë remained where she was when he left with Aragon. The elves sat in chairs not far from her. Thîwdín sat apart from the others, trying not to look at them, but not really paying attention to the tapestries either. Thangrod sat with a sneer on his face, as he glanced between Vairë and the other elves. Tarmafuin sat near the tapestry Vairë hung just before the elves' arrival, smiling proudly at the series of images near the top.

Making his decision, the Doomsman cleared his throat to get the elves' attention. All three turned to look at him in surprise, having not noticed his arrival. "Tarmafuin, you are next. Come with me." The addressed elf rose from his seat, smirking at the others before following the Vala from the room.

* * *

><p>They entered another tapestried room. Námo turned to face Tarmafuin, gesturing around the room as he spoke. "Tarmafuin, these are your tapestries. They tell your story. Now, you have a choice. Either you narrate, or I will."<p>

Tarmafuin's eyes lit up. "I will narrate. I wish to tell you _exactly_ why I did what I did."

Námo raised an eyebrow. "Truly? Please proceed."

Tarmafuin smiled proudly. "I was a student of Master Aragon's in Prince Curufin's class. We were both excellent students, and Prince Curufin admired my ability. Due to our similar skill levels, Master Aragon often paired us together for practice. It was not long before Curufin began inviting me to visit at the palace.

"Prince Fëanor was impressed by my skill and chose me for his retinue when I completed my years of training." The elf scoffed. "And Master Aragon was _so_ proud of serving Prince Maedhros. _He_ merely served Fëanor's eldest son. _I_ served Fëanor himself!

"I served Prince Fëanor for many _yéni_. I rose through the ranks of his retinue very quickly. After Morgoth's release, I often found myself treated to Fëanor's long speeches about how life in Valinor was changed. Those speeches soon began to suggest that we should never have left Middle-earth, that great deeds awaited us there if we did but have the courage to leave Valinor!"

Námo interrupted his recitation. "Fëanor forgot that his own father was an emissary of the Eldar, sent to Valinor to see our land before the choice was made to come here. Finwë asked that our invitation to live in Valinor be accepted. As you know, you accepted it freely. The Noldorin lived here peacefully for many _yéni_. Why was it so important to you to leave Valinor?"

"I would follow Fëanor and Curufin anywhere!"

Námo noted, 'Tarmafuin displays very strong loyalty, but it is very different from the loyalty of his master, Aragon. Aragon was fully aware that his actions had evil consequences, and he came to regret them later. Tarmafuin seems to have no regard for how wrong he was, and rather than remorse, he is proud of everything he did.' Aloud, he urged, "Please continue."

"As Prince Fëanor grew more eager to reclaim the wide lands of Middle-earth that should have been ours, we began to hear that not everyone would wish to follow if he led us from Valinor. When we heard the rumors that his half-brothers wished to usurp their father's throne and supplant Fëanor, I _knew_ it was only a matter of time before events came to a head. The King had always favored Fëanor as the eldest son and the only child born to him by his first wife, and his younger sons resented Fëanor for that favor. In order to protect my lord's interests, I made it my business to learn how to use the weapons the smiths began to forge at that time."

Námo narrowed his eyes at this declaration. Even so many yéni after Melkor's defeat, his lies still proliferated. It would take much to correct this elf's perceptions.

The elf continued his tale. "It was not long before I was proven correct. King Finwë summoned the lords to a council, and his younger sons arrived before Fëanor. When Fëanor did finally arrive, he was furious. His threats to his elder half-brother Fingolfin were fully justified. And for those threats, he was exiled!" He clenched his fists in anger at the perceived injustice.

Tarmafuin stalked over to the wall of tapestries to the left of the door. Stopping at one of the tapestries, he snarled, "Fingolfin took this opportunity to take over the rule of the Noldorin! With Fëanor exiled, King Finwë chose to join his elder son. I began packing the moment I heard, fully prepared to march on the usurper upon our return home. I was certain the King would have difficulty in taking up the kingship again when he returned when Fëanor's banishment was lifted." Námo crossed his arms and watched.

Tarmafuin glowered at the tapestry. "Morgoth _actually_ had the gall to come to Formenos to try to talk Fëanor into letting him get near the Silmarils. I was on guard duty near the doors, and heard the entire conversation. I could not believe what he tried to do. _I_ was a friend of the family, and _I_ was denied the sight of them. What made him think that _he_, an enemy, would be permitted anywhere _near_ them?" He sneered as he said this.

"When Fëanor was finally summoned by Manwë to Valimar to reconcile with his brothers, Fëanor went alone. Finwë refused to return home until his son was permitted back in Tirion. While waiting to hear whether we could go home, a darkness fell over everything." He paused in his tale, and Námo cocked his head.

"We knew not what had occurred, but before we could try to find out, a deeper Darkness appeared." The elf gulped hard, the first emotion, other than zeal, that he had shown. "The strange power the Darkness came from was so terrible, none could stand before it. I was on the practice field, at the time, and went to confront the invader. But the fear that preceded it was so strong, I could not approach."

Námo's glare softened momentarily, in the face of the _fëa_'s relived fear. He allowed Tarmafuin to collect himself, and said gently, "Please continue."

Tarmafuin nodded. "Finwë alone defied that Darkness. Morgoth came with it, however, and slew the King. We could do nothing to stop the murder. Then, Morgoth descended to the vaults and stole all the jewels our smiths created, including Fëanor's Silmarils. We sent word of the attack to the Valar, but Morgoth had fled with his prize."

He straightened with pride. "Fëanor returned to Formenos, full of wrath at his father's murder and the theft of the Silmarils. He led us back to Tirion and inflamed the hearts of all the Noldor to a desire to return to Middle-earth. He called us to vengeance for the murder of King Finwë, and to conquest of the vast lands that awaited us. I needed little prompting. My king needed me, and after all, why should we allow these Men to take what should have been _ours_?"

Námo said nothing, but raised an eyebrow. The Valar themselves knew little of Men, at the time Tarmafuin mentioned. But more to the point, why was this wayward elf so concerned with what they did or did not have?

Tarmafuin did not seem to have his own ideas about this, but he parroted the words of Fëanor. The Vala was running out of patience for the parrot and wanted to get on with this current elf's Judgement.

"Fëanor's speech concluded when he and all of his sons swore their great Oath: By the name of Illuvatar, calling the Everlasting Dark upon them if they kept it not; with Manwë, Varda, and the hallowed mountain of Taniquetil as witness, to pursue with vengeance and hatred to the ends of the World Vala, Demon, Elf, or Man as yet unborn, or any creature, great or small, good or evil, that time should bring forth unto the end of days, whoso should hold, take, or keep a Silmaril from their possession.

"I swore to myself that I would do what I could to help my King and his sons to fulfill their Oath. It began with finding a way across the Sundering Seas back to Middle-earth. Fëanor led us to Alqualondë, the Haven of the Swans, home of the Teleri Elves. Their ships were vital to us as a mode of transport. But Olwë, their king, refused to aid us!

"After we assembled a large enough force, Fëanor sent a contingent to take the ships by force. They _tried_ to stop us," here, Tarmafuin scoffed at the memory, "But _we_ were better armed, and we easily beat them back."

Námo interrupted the tale. "Wait a moment. Are you honestly telling me that after your King vowed that no one should steal his gems and remain unpunished, you felt proud and perfectly justified in slaughtering countless Teleri Elves, your brethren, so that you could steal their ships?"

The elf shrugged. "They renounced our friendship, and refused to lend us the ships we needed to pursue Morgoth. Fëanor decided that we had not the time to attempt to persuade the Teleri any longer. Once we had possession of the ships, we took them up the coast, intending to cross the Sea farther North."

Námo cleared his throat, and the elf looked up, his tirade interrupted. "Tarmafuin, it is clear to me that you are a very loyal Elf, fearless in your words and deeds to honor your king, Fëanor, and later his son Curufin." This made the _fëa_ beam with pride. "However, we are not here at present to discuss or to Judge either Fëanor or Curufin. Both have had their Judgement, and are serving their sentences, as they may be.

"We are here to discuss _you_ and _your_ actions. The fact that they were largely orders from a king or prince may be taken as mitigating factors – if the situation warrants it. But from here on in, we shall focus on _your_ actions. Have I made myself clear?"

Tarmafuin quailed at the Vala's obvious irritation. Nodding slowly, he said, "Perfectly, my Lord."

Námo nodded back in satisfaction, before moving on to the next tapestry he wished to cover. "Very well. Now, let us move on to this."

Tarmafuin approached the indicated tapestry. "Well, when Fëanor brought his followers to the East coast of Valinor and we were ready to cross the Sea to Middle-earth, we did not have enough ships to carry everyone over at once. The Elves present were all arguing about who should be brought over first, terrified of being left behind. Fëanor simply selected those of us most loyal to him and abandoned the rest of the Elves who came with us, and left them to return home. I fully agreed with his choice. If they could not agree on a course of action, it was right to let them stay behind! I was one of the first to jump to obey when Fëanor ordered the ships to be burnt at Losgar, on the West coast of Middle-earth.

"Unfortunately, the burning ships drew the attention of the Enemy. We had marched from the shore, and camped on the shores of Lake Mithrim when we were assaulted before our defenses were in place. Though caught unawares, we easily defeated the Orcs. I killed many of them. Fëanor was so filled with rage, that he followed the fleeing Orcs, hoping to defeat Morgoth at once. I followed, as well, trying to protect him, but he outstripped all of us. He was soon surrounded by Balrogs before the gates of Angband. Unable to reach him, we could do nothing as he fought the Demons alone, until he fell."

The elf was nearly in tears as he described the battle. "We were finally reinforced by Fëanor's sons, and we rescued him from the clutches of the Enemy, but it was already too late. He bade his sons to hold to the Oath, and then he died. We were horrified as his body exploded in spontaneous combustion. No part of his body was left for burial; all was ash, blown away in the wind."

Námo produced a handkerchief for the elf to wipe his eyes. He patiently waited for Tarmafuin to collect himself.

When he had calmed sufficiently, the elf looked up at Námo gratefully, and said, "Thank you for the respite, my Lord." Tarmafuin took a cleansing breath and continued his tale. "Those of us who served Fëanor were now divided between his sons. Curufin, my friend since childhood, brought me into his service. I was proud to serve him. Most like Fëanor of the seven of them, he would stay the course in fulfilling their Oath the most readily. And I was prepared to help him do just that."

Námo walked over to the other side of the room, to stand beside another tapestry. As he pointed at a scene, he said, "Now tell me what _you_ were doing here. I know what everyone else was doing. I want to hear what _you_ were doing at this juncture."

Tarmafuin joined the Vala in front of the tapestry and scowled. "I was having dinner with Curufin and his son Celebrimbor, and my prince wished to be assured that his son would continue to do what was needed to fulfill the Oath. There was peace at that time, but Curufin knew it would not last. He still recalled his father's death, and wanted to know that, if the worst should happen to him, his son would take his place.

"Celebrimbor refused to make such promises. He said that so far, the Oath had brought the Elves nothing but woe. The rebellious troll wanted to turn his back on all his grandfather died for, and return to 'creating things of beauty.' He cared not for recovering the Silmarils, but wished to make other treasures, as though the Silmarils could be replaced!

"Curufin was angry at Celebrimbor for his refusal to hold to the Oath, but he did not wish to fight with his son at that juncture. The War with Morgoth was far more important than this disagreement."

Tarmafuin slammed a fist into his open palm. "How DARE that insolent whelp turn his back on the avowed duty of his grandfather, the valiant work of his father, to retrieve these treasured family heirlooms! It was not my place to gainsay my prince, but neither would I rest until either the brat would repent and fulfill the family vows, or would otherwise pay for his crimes!"

Námo raised an eyebrow and thought, 'Now, the wayward _fëa_ still has yet to tell of _his_ deeds, but at least he begins to tell what he _should_ have focused on. Even one as stubborn as he can be taught.'

The fuming elf continued. "Then, when I heard that he had _abandoned_ his father in Nargothrond, after Beren and Lúthien came through that city on the Quest for the Silmarils, I was furious. How _dare_ he! I was willing to defend Curufin to the death, and Celebrimbor let those fools throw his father and uncle out of the city alone and undefended?

"At this point, I did nothing on the matter of Celebrimbor, but bide my time."

Námo nodded, arms folded across his chest. "I suppose you should be praised for your loyalty to your prince, misplaced though it was, given that your favored prince was known for destroying Elves over naught but a trinket, Fëanors' Oath notwithstanding." Tarmafuin gulped, only now realizing that the Vala did not consider his actions as either correct or justified. The elf had fully believed in the rightness of any and all of his actions on behalf of both Fëanor and Curufin. He was an elf loyal to his king and his prince. Surely an Elf had no higher duty than serving his king, and then prince?

He could not believe that the Vala had discounted, nay condemned, the violence committed over the fulfillment of Fëanor's Oath. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could tell his Judgement was already sealed. There was nothing to be done, but to tell the truth as he saw it. It would not help, but it could not possibly hurt more than he already was.

Tarmafuin cleared his throat. "After Beren and Lúthien died, the Silmaril was inherited by their son, 'King' Dior. As if _he_ had the right to have possession of it! Curufin and his brothers called on him to surrender the Silmaril, but he refused to acknowledge their claim to their father's jewel. As you said, over this, my prince and his brothers waged war.

"I see, now, that the cause for which we fought was not as just as I had thought at the time. But I fought for my prince, and I followed him to the end. In the battle, Dior killed three of the beloved sons of Fëanor, Celegorm, Caranthir, and Curufin. In revenge for my prince's death, I killed Dior. And soon after, I, too, was killed."

Námo gave the elf a few moments to collect himself, recognizing how hard it was for a _fëa_ to discuss his own death. After a sufficient respectful pause, he moved on. "You served your prince loyally, following him even unto death. Why did you not obey my Summons?"

Tarmafuin shifted a bit uncomfortably. "As I said before, I would not rest until I had avenged Celebrimbor's betrayal of his family's fulfillment of Fëanor's Oath. Perhaps unfortunately for me, I knew not where to begin. For the first few years, I searched far and wide, but, as I mentioned earlier, Middle-earth is vast. After years of fruitless searching, I grew weary. Vengeance was still my purpose for remaining in Middle-earth, but without direction, I had temporarily put off my pursuit.

"I continued to wander until I found the companionship of other Houseless who dwelt in the marshes of Swanfleet. That was until Thangrod complained of his unsuccessful attempt to take over the body of Glorfindel, a particularly strong _fëa_ in a particularly strong body. I taunted him for his lack of perseverance."

Námo clucked his tongue. It was not bad enough that this elf stayed a Houseless, but that he taunted another _fëa_ for not having successfully performed the greatest perversion of which a Houseless was capable.

Tarmafuin continued. "Thangrod mentioned some _adan_ spirit that managed to stop him. I told of my own desire to take Celebrimbor, and then we were joined by Thîwdín and Master Aragon. Thîwdín was attracted to Elrond's unusual lineage. Master Aragon proceeded to scold all three of us for desiring elves that draw attention simply for existing, then declared that he would accept any soldier he could find. When Thangrod mentioned that Celebrimbor was so close to where we were, I was eager to proceed with his plan. I would have my revenge at last!

"We listened to several healers discussing the _adan_, and learned that the child was out in the city. Thangrod wanted to go locate him, but I wanted to take Celebrimbor as soon as I could. Master Aragon insisted that knowing where the _adan_ was would help ensure our safety. I was quite annoyed with him for the delay but, as usual, he was right.

"We located the _adan_, and I was finally able to do what I had dreamt of accomplishing for many _yéni_. Now that I knew where to search, I found Celebrimbor quickly. I had my prize! Well... almost. The _adan_ caught up with me and managed to force me out, somehow. He captured me in a strange container, and here I am."

Námo studied the elf before him before pronouncing Judgement. "You showed great loyalty to your king and prince. As such, you will remain here in contemplation until such time that Curufin is reborn."

Tarmafuin nodded. "That will be wonderful!" Then, the Vala's words fully registered. "Wait, Curufin has not yet been reborn? He has been dead for millennia!"

Námo shrugged. "He has yet to show remorse for the Kinslayings. Until he does, there is little reason to consider him ready for rebirth."

Upon hearing Námo's words, the elf objected. "But... it could be many more millennia before he is reborn!"

The Doomsman cocked his head to one side, then nodded to himself. "After you have stayed here in contemplation for 300 Years of the Sun, I will permit you to visit with Curufin. Perhaps you will be able to help Curufin find remorse for his actions."

After a moment of thought, Tarmafuin nodded in acceptance. "I believe I can do that. Curufin did listen to me on occasion."

Námo responded, "You should hope this will be one of them."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I apologize for the long wait. This chapter was particularly difficult for me to write. My only excuse is that character development is not a strong suit, and this character was particularly hard to wrap my mind around. Miriam1 was a huge help in getting this done, as most of this chapter was written by her. Thank you Miriam!

A big thank you to all of you who have stuck around despite all these long breaks between posts. I offer large mugs of hot chocolate.

Disclaimer: I do not own either _Danny Phantom_ or _The Silmarillion_.

Chapter 4

Námo left Tarmafuin and considered the two _fëar_ left to be judged. Thangrod sat with his arms crossed, a surly expression on his face. Thîwdín stood, viewing a tapestry following Elrond Eärendilion's most current adventures, and he turned his head to face the Vala who had returned to the waiting room. "Thîwdín, you are next. Come with me."

He escorted the elf into yet another tapestried room. Thîwdín looked around with pride in the fact that this whole room was devoted entirely to his deeds.

After giving the elf a moment to look around, the Vala told him, "Thîwdín, these are your tapestries. They tell your story. Now, you have a choice. Either you narrate, or I will."

Thîwdín's eyes lit up. "Finally, I have someone who is interested in _my_ story! Yes, I will narrate."

Námo smiled briefly at the elf's eagerness. "Proceed."

The young fellow scanned the room looking through the tapestries until he found the one he wanted. "I was born in Ossiriand, near the Blue Mountains. My father served in Prince Maglor's retinue, as did my older brother, Thorontir." He sighed. "Master Fimthalion, son of Aragon, taught my class our lessons. I did well, but my skill at marksmanship was unremarkable. I did well enough when my targets were stationary, but moving targets were always a challenge. So even in my earliest years, I could never even measure up to my father, or even my brother."

Námo interrupted, "Thîwdín... I promise you that my Judgment of you here has _nothing_ to do with your success as a soldier, and I certainly do not intend to compare your skill in marksmanship to that of anyone else."

The _fëa_ hung his head. "I know. I just... My parents frequently said that I would find what I loved, and do well in that." He let out a frustrated growl as he added, "I worked hard in all of my lessons, but I always took longer than my classmates to learn the lessons our instructors imparted to us."

He scowled as he ran his finger along the tapestry, closed his eyes, and shook his head to clear the cobwebs. He was telling his story. Maybe if he explained when it started going wrong, Námo would understand.

"I was still in my twenties when Prince Maglor and his older brother Prince Maedhros joined their brothers to attack Sirion. My brother said the campaign was an effort to retrieve the Silmaril from Princess Elwing. My father was killed in the fighting. When Thorontir returned with the news, my mother was so grief-stricken, she faded within the year."

He closed his eyes again. "My brother brought me to the palace to be raised among the other war orphans. Apparently, Prince Maedhros and Prince Maglor felt guilty for..." He opened his eyes and cocked his head. "You know, I was never clear on what precisely they felt guilty for. But I do remember that among the orphans who were welcomed were a set of twins: Elrond and Elros. They were everyone's darling, particularly Elrond."

Thîwdín stalked over to a tapestry. "Elrond could do no wrong. He was not perfect, but he may as well have been. The lot of us trained together under Master Fimthalion. Elrond was brilliant at _everything_ he set his hand or mind to. He was top of our archery class. He was top of our fencing and swordsmanship class. At reading, at writing, at figuring, at languages... And he was accorded all kinds of praise from every quarter."

Hanging his head sadly, he opined, "Thorontir said I was not to put myself forward, as Elrond and Elros were princes, and I was just a simple elf, son of a soldier." He raised his head and narrowed his eyes. "He had no need to worry. Who would look twice at average, mediocre Thîwdín, when glorious Elrond was available?" he spat bitterly.

Námo sighed gustily in frustration. "Thîwdín, why are you so jealous of Elrond?"

The distraught elf turned away from the tapestries and fully faced the Vala. "Because _everything_ I do takes a lot of work to only come up with average to middling results. Elrond was always very good if not perfect, and always praised by Maglor and Maedhros.

"I remember... Shortly after the day the Eärendilion twins came, I just got eight out of ten arrows into the bull's eye target. I was so proud. And then it was Elrond's turn. He not only shot each arrow to the center of the bull's eye, several of his newer arrows split the shafts of his first set. Fimthalion praised him. Maglor praised him. _Elros_," Thîwdín's vicious sneer caught Námo by surprise, "praised him. My success that I was so proud of paled in comparison, and no one even remembered. I was so disheartened that I wept; however, I was able to withhold my tears until Elrond moved on to his next task.

"Maglor graciously noticed that all was not right with me. I remember it well. He solicitously asked, 'Why are you so sad?'

"I told him, 'I try as hard as I can. I put forth as much effort as I am capable of doing, and I even improved. But no one notices. Who would, when the twins are so wonderful? Elrond does everything expertly, with minimum effort. You and your brother fuss over him. It is not fair!'

"Almost with regret, Maglor told me, 'We do not mean to leave you out. Have we?'

"Even I was not so churlish as to cast false blame. I remember responding, 'No. But Elrond is good at everything.' I dare say, he still is.

"Maglor comforted me. He really tried. He said, 'My dear Thîwdín, how much of Elrond's background are you aware of?'

"I told him, 'He and his brother are orphans like me. They are descended from royalty. More than that, I do not know.'

"He shattered my imagination that day. He said, 'Elrond and Elros are descended from all the Houses of Elves, from the three Houses of the Edain, and Melian the Maia.' Needless to say, I was flabbergasted. How does one respond to that?

"He continued, 'With all of this impressive ancestry, the twins were born with more than a few inherited gifts above and beyond those of most people. My dearest elfling, I myself am an Elf Prince, and _I_ do not have Elrond's gifts. I am not jealous of the twins or their many accomplishments. I am proud to have the honor of raising them and witnessing them achieve their potential.'

"He surprised me by acknowledging _my_ success that day. 'This day is a day of great achievement for you, Thîwdín. Do not compare yourself to Elrond and Elros. Rather, compare your own success with the effort you put forth to your previous achievements. This will be far more fruitful and gain you more milestones in achievement and self-respect that you so richly deserve'."

Námo blinked. "Thîwdín, the fact that you recall this exchange verbatim is an astounding achievement for any elf."

"No, sir," he demurred. "It is merely rereading it back from my journal so many times and repeated recitation over the _yéni_ that I can recall it so well."

The Vala covered his eyes as he collected his thoughts. He reflected, 'This poor elf does not acknowledge the value of his own accomplishments, no matter how remarkable. Maglor displayed great wisdom. It seems, however, that the effort was wasted on this poor _fëa_.'

Removing his hand from his eyes, Námo cleared his throat. "So what did you do with Maglor's advice?"

"I tried my best to take it. Rather than despairing, I doubled my efforts, and I eventually improved. I was in my thirties when any adult who advised me helped me conclude that the career path of a soldier was not for me. I could, if necessary, hunt, but that was never my strong point."

Turning back to the tapestry, he continued, "I cast about searching for another skill. I tried my hand at pottery. My hands were not steady - the same deficiency which caused me to be such a bad shot in archery - so my best efforts were awkwardly tilted candle holders and misshapen arrowheads."

Thîwdín sighed. "Years after my initial foray into this skill, Elrond sat at a potter's wheel. Within days, he was a master potter! His inspiration of a moment and creation of hours became sought after prizes of royalty, nobility, and expert merchants.

"But you see, Elrond did not intend to show me up. He _did _praise my efforts, even acknowledging when I had, in fact, improved. Further, he reprimanded my less-than-gracious classmates, who taunted me, saying that I should tend the fires, as one such as I could not mess that up." He fell silent, in great emotional pain.

In an attempt to soothe the distressed _fëa_, Námo asked gently, "Did you find your niche?"

Thîwdín grimaced wryly, "I learned to cook. This is one skill that I truly flourished in. Prince Maglor praised me highly, and refused to do without me. When he was at home, I cooked for the palace. When he was in the field, I cooked for his retinue. When at home, my baking became an art form. And when my hands were unsteady, it no longer mattered. In the field, I was near genius with herbs, leaves, stalks, and tubers to be found, and I could prepare anything someone had already killed."

"I am glad you found your calling."

"For 100 years, that was my task. But the soldiers who were once my classmates never forgot my failings. I remember my... death was the ignominious result of what was tantamount to a hunting accident. I do not even remember Prince Maglor's campaign objective. What I _do_ remember is that Master Fimthalion's former students decided that the venison near winter's end was too gamey. It was a ludicrous complaint, and I probably should not have reacted, but... The _one_ thing I know I do well was accused of being substandard!

"The campaign lasted several months, that I was aware of, and I was determined to prove that it was not my preparations that were at fault. An animal caught when it finished hibernating was going to, by nature, have less fat than a summer-fed deer."

The Vala sighed inwardly as he predicted the poor elf's story.

"That summer I decided to show them. I was part of a small hunting party that departed from our main camp. On our foray, I successfully shot a five-point buck. However, raiding Orcs set upon our hunting party, killing the four of us. To this day, I am not certain which is a more painful memory: that the Orcs annihilated our hunting party, or that the Orcs made off with my deer."

Námo tilted his head as he stared at the elf for a few moments as he collected his thoughts. "Thîwdín, you have a very strong work ethic, and you worked with admirable persistence and drive. After several trials to find your niche, you became the Master Chef in the household of your beloved mentor, Prince Maglor. Despite your earlier struggles and frustrations, you found tremendous success in your chosen skill. Based on my own study of your tapestries and your own description of what lies therein, there is much to take pride in. I am _very_ proud of what you have made of yourself in your short 225 years. You led an exemplary life, and so I am in the unique position of being sincerely baffled. Why did you fail to answer my Summons?"

The elf lowered his head. "Because, sir, I did not see my life as you do. I was only 225 years old, and unlike Elrond, who has accomplishments beyond compare, I felt I had _nothing_ to show for my efforts. I was ashamed."

The Vala sighed, frustrated. This elf refused to acknowledge his own merit! Still... perhaps a different perspective could shed some light on a confusing matter. "My dearest _ellon_, why is it that when you mention the half-Elven twins, you almost exclusively focus on Elrond and his gifts? Elros was equally gifted, and he became the first King of Númenor."

"Because I do not understand Elros. He _chose_ to be mortal. If I had not been killed by the Orcs, I could have lived as long as Elrond. At 500 years, Elros died of old age, like any common Man." Námo raised an eyebrow at this; Elros was anything _but_ common. "But Elrond lived to his potential. Well... is _still_ living to his potential," Thîwdín huffed bitterly.

"Thîwdín, besides all of your true accomplishments and failure to appreciate them, you are - and have been - a good elf. You were a Houseless for 1530 years, quietly, peacefully. Why did you feel the need to violate Elrond in the most intense and invasive way possible without a physical form?"

The elf frowned, scrunching his face in bitterness. "Shortly after Elrond made my acquaintance, it was made clear to me that at least part of the secret of Elrond's phenomenal success in all things was his distinct lineage. He inherited his skills and gifts from each House of Elves, from all three Houses of the Edain, and a Maia, for Eru's sake! My paltry talents were only derived from my Noldorin ancestors. But that is no excuse, as I understand that all of the House of Fëanor were extremely talented."

He sighed. "I spent most of my time as a Houseless following Elrond, watching his movements and his achievements. But it never would have occurred to me to try such a thing as invading a living Elf's body until Thangrod and Tarmafuin mentioned it. Master Aragon chided us for having ambitions above our station. But the temptation was so great! For that shining moment, I had what Elrond had! I reveled in the glorious power the Maia gave him." He closed his eyes and shivered in remembered pleasure.

"But that... The spirit of the _adan_ forced me out. I did not let go without a fight! I did not know of the strength of the _adan_ spirit. Thangrod was just as angry as I was. But the pain! I was not aware that a _fëa_ without form was capable of feeling such pain. Once I was forced out, I was dazed and weak, and then... I was captured. And here I am."

Námo considered the elf before him. "I can see that you are in need of help in correcting your view of yourself. This is my Judgement: you will remain here in contemplation for 25 Years of the Sun. You will spend that time considering your life, personal achievements, and successes. To aid you in this, I will visit with you once a week, and Prince Maedhros will visit twice a week, so that we can properly study your tapestries together." Thîwdín's eyes lit up at the prospect of the personal attention.

The Vala continued, "We will select sections of time where you were particularly bitter about Elrond and discuss your own accomplishments at those times. You will then write an essay about those events, in the language of your choice, discussing your perspective. You will discuss what happened, how you perceived the events at the time, and how you view them in retrospect.

"If, after that time, you still covet Elrond's life, you will be given another year, until you are capable of recognizing what you did right in your own life. You will not seek out Elrond's adventures, but focus mostly on your own deeds. If you learn your lesson prior to the end of 25 years, you will be permitted to roam the Halls at will, and practice your cooking skills, if you so choose." Námo considered that an occasional visit from Aragon might not go amiss, either.

Thîwdín bowed his head in acknowledgment. "Thank you, my Lord. You are most generous."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thank you all for your patience while I worked on this fic. I realize that there have been some very long gaps in updates, and I appreciate all of you who have continued to read this story despite the erratic update schedule. I offer chocolate of your choice in thanks for your continued support.

I want to thank my friend and collaborator, Miriam1, for her invaluable assistance in writing this story. The retelling of our earlier collaboration, "A Ghost in Middle-earth," came from her, as well as a large part of the Judgement, itself. I offer sugar-free chocolate in thanks to her for her help.

Disclaimer: I do not own either _Danny Phantom_ or _The Silmarillion_.

Chapter 5

Námo braced himself as he left Thîwdín. All three of the Judged conspirators admitted that Thangrod was the instigator of the abomination of Houseless invading the bodies of living Elves.

He already knew from studying the tapestries that this _fëa_ would require special handling.

Still, every soul deserved a chance to prove itself. Námo approached the surly _fëa_, who sat with his arms crossed. "Thangrod, come with me."

The Doomsman led the rebellious elf to his tapestry room. "Thangrod, these are your tapestries. They tell your story. Now, you have a choice. Either you narrate them, or I will."

Thangrod angrily recrossed his arms, stubbornly refusing to say a word.

Námo sighed. "Very well. I warn you: you may not like the perspective I choose. But even in the face of your insolence, I am merciful. Should you choose to change your mind, I will allow you to take over at any time.

"Let me see, where should we begin?" He scanned the tapestries to find the point he wished to start at. "Ah, here we are. You and Fëanor were in the same archery class, and were the two top students taught by Master Telpëmacar, father of Master Aragon. You also had a great deal in common, not necessarily in a good way," he noted wryly.

Námo continued, ignoring Thangrod's attempt to make an indignant exclamation. "The two of you were best friends, spending most of your free time together, and you were often paired together for sparring lessons. When the two of you spent time with other children, you often assisted Fëanor when he disagreed with others, rather than trying to curb his temper. In fact, both of you rather enjoyed these little fights, and Fëanor had little trouble in enlisting your aid when they occurred."

Thangrod quietly fumed. How _dare_ this Vala reduce his beloved prince's great arguments to the petty spats of children! Still, he refused to say a word that would condemn himself. Just like Fëanor said, this Vala was entirely too full of himself.

"When you reached adulthood, you became Fëanor's second-in-command. And you listened quite attentively when he ranted about his father's second marriage and the births of his younger brothers." The Vala ignored the elf's muttered "_Half_-brothers" as he turned to examine the next tapestry he wanted to discuss.

As Námo ran his finger along the tapestry, to stop on Fingolfin, Thangrod cut in. "Wait a minute!"

Námo raised an eyebrow. "It was _your_ choice to allow me to choose what and how to narrate. If you feel that I have left out something important, you can take up the narrative yourself at any time."

Thangrod mused to himself, 'Perhaps I _should_ jump in.' He wasn't there yet, but almost.

Námo continued. "Fingolfin and Glorfindel were two of the top students in their class. Master Aragon _was_ top of the class. All three of them were close friends, and spent a great deal of time together."

Thangrod broke in at this point. In a snarky tone, he said, "They were such brats, the lot of them. Fëanor was frequently sent by his father to watch his half-brothers in their classes, around his work in the smithy. Fëanor was resentful of having to give up time he could better spend in learning his craft to watch over his younger brothers, Fingolfin and later Finarfin. Fëanor requested my company, so that he would have someone his _own_ age to speak with."

Námo responded, "It is not unreasonable for the King to ask his oldest son to look in on his younger brothers. After all, when Fëanor himself was a father, he also had his older sons looking out for the welfare of his younger sons."

Thangrod sighed gustily with frustration. "Perhaps. But all of Fëanor's sons were worthy children born from the same mother. Fingolfin and Finarfin were born from Finwë's illegitimate second wife, so they were unworthy of their elder _brother's_ attention. And Glorfindel was an unfortunate sycophant of that illicit child Fingolfin. Further, Glorfindel was _so_ proud, one of a few Noldorin Elves with golden hair."

The elf chuckled as he recalled a favorite incident from that time. "Once, Aragon actually turned the golden child's hair _green_. Although the dye he used was a blue dye, Glorfindel's hair was of such a shade of blond that the blue dye reacted like it had mixed with yellow dye. I laughed so very hard when it happened. Glorfindel was furious and refused to speak to Aragon until the dye was finally washed out. It took him three days to get it out, the dye was so resilient."

Námo raised an eyebrow at this. He noted that, while Aragon was deeply embarrassed by the prank so many _yeni_ later, Thangrod had greatly appreciated the joke. Thangrod still gloated about it. Aragon, at least, recognized the error of his ways.

The Vala asked, "You are not ashamed of this? You are _75_ years older than Glorfindel. Aragon was a foolish child playing a foolish trick. What was _your_ excuse for taking pleasure in the misfortune of a child?"

Thangrod decided he had had enough of this. He became angry at the attempt to humiliate him. "That little brat _needed_ to be taken down a peg or two! He was _so_ proud of that golden hair of his." Thangrod rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Young Master Aragon may have regretted that prank, but _I_ enjoyed seeing Glorfindel deal with losing the right to brag about one of his points of pride for a few days."

Námo interrupted. "You have failed to explain why Glorfindel raises such anger in you."

Thangrod blew out an angry breath and said, "Because the golden brat became the 'second-in-command' to that illegitimate Fingolfin, playing like he was my equal, as I was second-in-command to Fëanor."

The elf took a calming breath, then moved on to another tapestry. "Fëanor involved me in many of his plans for his projects. When rumor reached us of Fingolfin's desire to usurp Fëanor's place, I assisted in the construction of the new smithies, including his secret one. I was one of the few he would seek advice from on anything.

"Fëanor never trusted Morgoth's intentions, of course. But there was some truth in what we later learned he had started to convince us of: the Valar were jealous of us!"

Námo crossed his arms and glared at the elf. "Excuse me?"

Thangrod glared back at him, unintimidated by the Vala's anger. "That's right! You heard me! The Valar are jealous of our creative talents! You believe only _you_ are capable of creating things of beauty. We Elves are _also_ capable of creating things of beauty, things even _more_ beautiful! For example: the Silmarils."

Námo raised an eyebrow, as the arrogant elf had just compared the creation of jewelry to the creation of the stars in the sky or a sunset at the end of a summer's day. He composed his features and relaxed his shoulders slightly, as he studied the angry _fëa_. "I know that Fëanor believed thus. What were your thoughts?"

"Fëanor was right in everything he said!" Thangrod's eyes lit up in righteous zeal.

The Vala could see that Thangrod was, essentially, little more than a lackey.

Said lackey continued, "One day, Fëanor and Fingolfin had an argument over the disposition of the Valar. Fëanor was already convinced that the Valar were nothing more than greedy bastards." He didn't even pause to see the Doomsman's reaction to the slight. "Fingolfin kept insisting that they had done nothing but show us _graciousness_ and _love_." Here, the elf sneered. "Fëanor persisted in his arguments, and said that their father and the other emissaries had been misled so as to trick them into accepting the offer to live in Valinor.

"Of course, I supported Fëanor. I expressed my belief that Finwë had been a fool to accept living in Valinor over the wide lands of Middle-earth. Glorfindel became angry with me for saying so, and insisted, 'The only fool here is _you_! You fail to see the King's wisdom and the great love the Valar have shown us.' I was so angry that I nearly attacked the little brat. But Aragon got between us and insisted we take our anger out on the sparring field.

"King Finwë heard of the argument and became angry that his sons were fighting in public. He took Fëanor and Fingolfin home to deal with them privately over the matter. In the meantime, I faced Glorfindel on the sparring field, and _the little brat beat me_!" Thangrod took a couple of breaths to calm down before continuing.

"Master Telpëmacar was very proud of Aragon for breaking up our indecorous fight as he did, having us wait until we were in the appropriate venue. He said that his son was a very good teacher. I was also proud of the young one. His ability to keep _his_ temper under control and to direct others in the heat of an argument was quite impressive. He eventually became young Master Aragon. While I was proud of Aragon for his skills, I was still angry at Glorfindel for beating me so soundly in our sparring match."

"Why did Glorfindel's skill offend you so, while Aragon was superior to both of you?" Námo was truly curious, hearing the change of Thangrod's tone when he spoke of both younger elves.

Thangrod became thoughtful. "Aragon was the son of a warrior and sought for nothing more than to be what he was: a warrior and eventually a teacher. Glorfindel was a Lord in his own right, and spent all of his time around that usurping prince, Fingolfin." Here, he crossed his arms and glared at the image on the tapestry. "If you _must_ know, I was jealous of the little golden brat."

'That explains a great deal,' thought the Vala.

With a sigh of exasperation, Námo pointed to a tapestry and said, "I know you heard my words to Fëanor when he was banished from Tirion. While I know that the seeds of discord were sown by Melkor, I have already heard from Fëanor concerning his motivation for drawing his sword against his brother. What I want to hear from _you_ is what possessed you to follow along? Was it blind devotion to your beloved Prince? Or was there a guiding principle that you were following? It makes sense to me that Fëanor's sons followed their father, they and their assorted retinues. _You_, who were Fëanor's right hand, must have had _some_ motivation. What was it?"

Thangrod looked at the events portrayed, and his eyes lit up with righteous anger. "I fully intended to follow Fëanor anywhere he led! Not only did his words make perfect sense, but I could see that Fingolfin was 'sowing seeds of discord' against him. Fingolfin was trying to turn Finwë against Fëanor, and I was _not_ going to stand for such treachery!"

The Vala raised an eyebrow at this brazen elf using his own words against Morgoth, the Source of all Evil, to describe the righteous young Elven Prince.

"So you joined Fëanor in his banishment. Let us move on to his return to Tirion after the deaths of the Two Trees."

Thangrod sighed. "Morgoth had killed Finwë. Fëanor was absolutely furious, and he intended to pursue him and avenge his father's death. He also had to retrieve the Silmarils that Morgoth had stolen.

"But _Glorfindel_," the elf sneered as he spoke the name, "had to point out that Fëanor was not supposed to be in Tirion. There had been no word from Manwë that the ban had been lifted, he said. Our new King was calling on us to avenge our old King's murder and that little brat had to delay things by complaining of a technicality! Before Morgoth's attack, we had heard that Manwë had fully intended to lift the ban."

Námo broke in, speaking quietly, yet angrily. "While it is true that Manwë _had _intended to lift the ban, it was Fëanor's own actions and his vile and unjust Oath that caused the deaths of countless Elves, Men and Dwarves that earned Fëanor permanent banishment from Valinor." The power of the Vala's words made Thangrod tremble and realize that Fëanor was mistaken when he ranted that the only power of the Valar was vainglory showboating.

Thangrod took a moment to compose himself. He recognized that he was damned, and his ultimate fate would be some form of destruction. He steadied himself, and decided he may as well enjoy his last moments of defiance. "Be that as it may, at the time, I felt the only reason Glorfindel had to delay the vengeance of Finwë's murder was because he so obviously supported Fingolfin usurping the throne."

Námo noted Thangrod's change in disposition, and decided to continue with the _fëa_'s history. He skipped over the telling of the Kinslaying and the Burning of the Ships, as he knew that Thangrod would only glory in the 'correctness' of his King's actions. Moving on to the tapestry he wanted to cover next, he muttered, "That an Elf can go so wrong is truly disheartening."

Thangrod raised his eyebrows when he recognized the events being passed over. He'd looked forward to telling his thoughts on those incidents. While it _was_ his right to narrate them, if he chose, he realized that it would not help his case if he did as he wished. He waited to see what the Doomsman would highlight next.

About halfway down the fourth wall, Námo stopped. "Let us proceed to after you landed in Middle-earth." He pointed to a tapestry depicting a vicious running battle.

Thangrod looked up at the indicated tapestry and paled. "It was after Fëanor had us burn the ships of the Teleri, so none could go back and retrieve the cowards that followed Fingolfin. Morgoth's creatures attacked us while we were setting up camp.

"In spite of the fact that we were caught by surprise, we were able to not only fight off the enemy, we won the battle after ten days of fierce fighting. But Fëanor was caught up in battle frenzy, and he pursued the foe, thinking thereby to defeat Morgoth and reclaim the Silmarils. I tried to keep up with him, but he far outstripped all of us in the mad dash. I was furious at being cut off from him. Orcs soon surrounded me as I tried to fight my way to his side. It was only because I was overpowered that I was killed."

Námo gave him a moment to compose himself. It is never easy for a _fëa_ to discuss it's own death. When Thangrod appeared ready to continue, the Vala graced him with a resigned look. "Based on your completely unrepentant mien for the wrongs you have done in your life, I recognize that you are completely faithful to Fëanor, and that you are unrepentant for the evils you have done in the name of your Lord and King. An answer is not necessary, but the forms must be followed. Therefore, I must ask: why, when you died, did you fail to answer my Summons?"

Thangrod snarled, "Fëanor had often spoken, saying the Valar were jealous of us. Why should _I_ have followed the demand of a power-hungry Vala?" His defiance belied his true fear.

Námo gave him a Look. Fëanor was the same way. "I expected no less from you. So what did you do... as a Houseless? Since, _obviously_, you didn't come _here_."

Taking pride in what he'd done, Thangrod declared, "I made a survey of the territory Fëanor had said, by rights, should be ours. I spent my time going far and wide over the whole of Middle-earth. But, oddly enough, I lost track of Glorfindel, that golden brat. But I made sure to check in on the sons of my beloved King, Fëanor."

The elf walked over to stand in front of a tapestry depicting Morgoth's deception disguised as a concession concerning peace and the Silmarils. To Námo's surprise, Thangrod sighed over the loss of life of the Elves involved; Fëanor's eldest was the only one to survive. "Maedhros' capture, shortly after Fëanor's death, could have been devastating, but Prince Fingon, son of Fingolfin, was able to rescue him far more easily than I expected.

"That War went very badly overall, though there were occasional victories. The cousins of the sons of Fëanor assisted the rightful heirs in keeping Morgoth penned in for several centuries before he and his forces succeeded in breaking the leaguer. And the appearance of these horrendous fell beasts, that I later learned were called 'Dragons,' were necessary to turn the tide. Between these _Dragons_ and the recruitment of _Men_, along with his other forces, that day belonged to Morgoth.

"I was saddened by Master Aragon's death, but Maedhros survived, as a result of Aragon's efforts. Prince Maedhros joined with Maglor when he could, and they accomplished many great feats and actions together. I also witnessed the division between Curufin and his rebellious brat, Celebrimbor. Tarmafuin's desire to punish him for turning on his father was admirable. I could tell he wished for an opportunity to do so at the dinner where Celebrimbor refused to uphold the Oath of Fëanor, but it was not to be. It was infuriating that Celebrimbor gave up on his father completely when word of Finarfin's brat Finrod's death reached Nargothrond."

Námo waited patiently for him to calm down. He prompted, "And what else?"

"I was proud when Fëanor's third son, Celegorm, tried to court Lúthien."

Námo raised an eyebrow. "You are _proud_ of an Elf who kidnapped a lady multiple times and parted her from her _chosen_ suitor? And this makes you proud?"

Thangrod scowled. "That insufferable human, Beren, did not deserve to wed the most beautiful Elf in all of Creation! Celegorm was trying to negotiate with Thingol, Lúthien's father, for his daughter's hand in marriage in the proper way when she ran off, in the first place!

"_Beren had no right_! Celegorm was her legitimate suitor. No child of Fëanor would have sunk so low as to marry a mere human. And I was proud of Celegorm for his machinations to keep Lúthien from marrying so far beneath her."

In a quiet voice, he said, "Thîwdín had every right to be jealous of their great-grandson for having an ancestress like Lúthien."

"And yet," the Vala reminded, "that was _her_ choice. And you do not even see that what Celegorm and Curufin did when they held her captive against her will was wrong."

Thangrod was clearly unhappy at the reminder. "Either way, Lúthien and _Beren_'s son Dior succeeded King Thingol on the throne of Doriath. When Fëanor's sons assaulted Doriath, in an effort to reclaim the Silmaril that Beren stole and Dior held, I found myself forced to watch as _three_ of them perished: Celegorm, Curufin, and Caranthir. That nearly half of Fëanor's sons were now gone was disheartening. And the rest were unable to capture the Silmaril. Dior's daughter Elwing had escaped with it in the turmoil. And Tarmafuin died avenging Curufin's death."

Námo appreciated the fact that Thangrod truly mourned the deaths of Fëanor's sons. But while he seemed capable of compassion, it was for all the wrong reasons. Fëanor's sons led an attack on the peaceful city of Doriath. Their attempted massacre was routed, and Fëanor's sons, the aggressors, were killed. Námo shook his head in sadness at Thangrod's misplaced mercies.

He tuned back in to the mournful elf's recounting of the fates of Fëanor's sons.

"And then, Amrod and Amras, Fëanor's youngest, fell in the assault at Sirion, leaving only the two eldest alive. Of course, the young twins had done very little in the Wars. They simply followed their older brothers. But Elwing fled Sirion, with the Silmaril, _yet_ _again_! The remaining Elves all thought she drowned when she dove into the Sea, but _I_ saw the sea bird with the brightly glowing star on its breast as it flew away."

Námo spoke emotionlessly. "You saw correctly." He thought, 'Thangrod has no need to know that Elwing's husband Eärendil now carries the Silmaril nightly across the sky.'

Thangrod fingered the tapestry that carried the story of the two remaining sons of Fëanor, as he remembered them. "That Maglor chose to raise Eärendil's sons was intriguing. They were fascinating to watch, their skills phenomenal in many branches of knowledge. Poor Thîwdín was among the Elves that stayed with the Fëanorion after the War. The young one had potential to go far in his chosen occupation. A pity the poor _ellon_ was slain by Orcs while hunting."

Námo was almost proud of him for having such compassion for someone other than either himself, Fëanor, or his sons. He allowed Thangrod to collect himself from mourning for Thîwdín.

"Maedhros and Maglor did a worthy job raising all the war orphans as they did. When that task was complete, they made one last effort to fulfill their father's Oath. They attempted to retrieve the Silmarils from Morgoth. And when the Valar _finally_ deigned to take part in Morgoth's final defeat, they destroyed the spirit of the sons from fulfilling their father's Oath. Maedhros killed himself in despair at losing his right to his father's Silmarils. Maglor was still wandering the shores of Middle-earth, the last I checked on him, singing laments."

Námo felt it only right to correct Thangrod's misconception. "While Maedhros and Maglor repented of the evil they had done and mourned the lives they had destroyed over Fëanor's vile Oath, the purity in the stones themselves rejected the sons of Fëanor for the blood on their hands. Do not concern yourself with _their_ Judgement."

Thangrod nodded in understanding. He recognized that he had worn thin the patience of the Doomsman, and he had better focus back on himself. However, the point he wanted to share was not solely on himself, so he asked, "May I share my thoughts on meeting the _adan_ child spirit?"

Námo told him, "Yes, for that will complete your story."

He took a cleansing breath, and began. "I continued to wander for some time. One day, I decided to check on Curufin's brat. I finally sensed the presence of Glorfindel's _fëa_ in the area, and I wanted to find out if he really was there. And then there was the entrance of the _adan_ child spirit. The green swirl caught my attention, but the child himself was fascinating..."

Thangrod juggled his emotions. That child spirit defeated him, but his very convenient placement in time and space put him closer to achieving his goal of conquering Glorfindel.

He decided to stow potential anger at the _adan_ child in favor of waxing poetic on how close he came, and how the child unwittingly helped him.

"Unlike the Houseless, the child spirit had form, which was intriguing, all by itself. The poor thing was lost, but sought civilization. The closest city was not the closest settlement of Men, but he never specified what he was looking for. It suited my purpose, well... several purposes, to send him to Celebrimbor's stronghold."

Námo raised an eyebrow and let the _fëa_ ramble.

"It amused me to know that I, as a Houseless, could speak to the _adan_ spirit, but it took the half-Elven brat to work out how living Elves could communicate with the child. Since said child spirit could sense my presence, I had to spend time in the farther reaches of Ost-in-Edhil. Still, the rumor mill worked to my favor, and without effort, I learned of Elrond's progress with learning the _adan_'s living language."

Thangrod cut his eyes to a place on the tapestry as he gathered his thoughts. "As I said, I had actually lost track of where the Golden brat spent his time, but his_ fëa_ was particularly strong. It was not until he came back from his patrol that I _saw_ Glorfindel. Without sensing organs, I could _smell _the strength of his body that had been fortified by the _fëa_ that... I see visited here and came back to Middle-earth." He closed his eyes and balled his fists in remembered lust. "I simply could _not_ resist the pull of inhabiting his body."

Námo raised both eyebrows. "Is that so?"

Thangrod shimmied in a snuggle of self-comfort. "Indeed. It was glorious. But that... _adan_ spirit has a power I have never heard of. I had heard of Houseless invading Elves' bodies before. But I have _never_ heard of a force, besides an individual struggling _fëa_, that could slow, never mind halt and _reverse_, the process!"

The Doomsman narrowed his eyes at the casual dismissal of the most heinous violation a _fëa_ can commit against another elf. Even so, the elf under Judgement continued his tale obliviously.

"I was weakened and disoriented. I needed to leave the presence of the destructive spirit, so I drifted away to Swanfleet to recuperate."

Námo interrupted the narrative. "Why was Swanfleet your chosen location for convalescence?"

"As the connection of the Greyflood and Glanduin Rivers, the eddies and flows created a marshland with waters still enough to deter the living Elves from visiting, but the confluence created a place of peace for Houseless. Many Houseless drift after their own interests, but marshes like the Swanfleet are perfect refuges for Houseless that need a rest from their pursuits."

Námo nodded and filed this information away, as it would be extremely useful. Perhaps he could send a couple of Maiar to herd the Houseless back to Valinor. Yes... They would wear blue, thus visually separating them out, marking them for their chosen task. He would ask Clockwork if the Time Master's young charge had a spare containment device...

Returning his attention to the recalcitrant _fëa_, he said, "I thank you. Please proceed with your tale."

Thangrod took a moment to recollect where he stopped. "Where was I?"

"You chose to recover from your disorientation in the Swanfleet. I imagine you would tell about your meeting up with..."

"Ah, yes. I had complained about the strong _fëa_ in the body I desired. Tarmafuin taunted me about giving up too easily. I reminded him that I had at least initiated taking steps to acquire my goal. After some consideration, he decided that the body of Celebrimbor was a worthy prize.

"Thîwdín and Master Aragon were attracted by our conversation about putting desire to deed. Thîwdín described all of the sterling qualities of the Elven Eärendilion."

Thangrod sighed. "Master Aragon was the voice of reason. He reminded us that none of us actually earned the status of Elf Lord that we desired to usurp. He was contented to take the body of a healthy, strong Elf that has all the skills we carefully built for ourselves as we learned from his father, himself, or his son. While we probably should have listened, Tarmafuin, Thîwdín, and I were blinded by our individual agendas and continued on our chosen path. Master Aragon took his own advice."

The _fëa_ shook his head in reflection. "Regardless of why we chose our specific targets, I recognized that we had a strike team. We had our goals, we had the opportunity, and now we had the support we could give each other as we attended to acquiring our individual conquests.

"We came back to the city, and I formed the strategy: first we needed to know the location of the powerful _adan_ spirit before we began. Tarmafuin was too enamored with the fact that his target was so close, in Celebrimbor's home and capital, but Master Aragon chided him for his impatience."

Thangrod ran his finger along the tapestry. "Honestly, it was a perfect plan. But like all plans and strategies, just because it looks good on parchment is no guarantee of its fruition in the execution. It should have worked. But all of us underestimated the _adan_ spirit because of his youth. Even Thîwdín had more than two centuries over the child."

He looked back at the Vala. "Despite his extreme youth, the _adan_ was a worthy adversary. He may have defeated all of us, but he never sought glory nor position. The last words I heard the boy say were: 'And _that_'_s_ for causing such pain to my friends!'

"I suppose such informality can be forgiven for the child. But the fact that Elrond and Glorfindel are Elf Lords was not referenced by the boy – merely the fact that they were his friends. Whatever Judgement _I_ may receive, the boy was valiant and pure of heart."

Námo lowered his eyebrows as he studied the elf. He found it rather ironic that the lives of the three _fëar_ that went after the Elf-Lords all revolved around Aragon and his family, simple soldiers with no interest in unearned status.

Still, he must pronounce Judgement on this wayward _fëa_. He straightened himself, so he stood taller. "Thangrod, you are a complicated _fëa_. After the retelling of your story, it is clear that you are completely unrepentant of your heinous crimes and your aiding and abetting of the wanton destruction of the decent Peoples of Valinor and Middle-earth."

The Elf shuddered in wide-eyed horror as he recognized the fact that the Vala just described _him_ the way any Elf would describe an _Orc._

"For these crimes, and your unwillingness to recognize your wrong, setting aside your unwillingness to change, you shall remain a ward of these Halls until the End of Days."

Thangrod was shocked into silence. That he was faithful to his Prince, and then King, and vigilant over the welfare of his sons, was ignored. Instead, the fact that he was compared to an Orc took his breath away. He had no response but a wide-eyed stare at the Doomsman.

"It should please you to know that the same punishment has been given to your comrade-in-arms, Fëanor."

Thangrod closed his eyes in sadness. Námo recognized that, somewhere deep down, he had touched the untouchable conscience. It may take centuries, but he may actually grow to learn to repent.

Námo continued. "Despite the evil within you and the actions you have committed, there is an underlying compassion, oddly enough, that you have shown to your younger companions. Your respect for Master Aragon was to be commended."

Thangrod opened his eyes in surprise. Though he was compared to an Orc, the Vala found some redeeming value in him. The beginning of hope, but only the beginning of hope, sparked within him.

"The pity you have shown for Thîwdín and the tremendous respect that you have shown in discussing the '_adan_ child spirit', as you have called him, shows that there is some part of you that seems like it _may _be redeemed, some time, and because of this, I shall tell you how your sentence shall be mitigated.

The elf sighed with relief. Perhaps all was not lost.

"Once Thîwdín has learned the lesson that _he_ needs to learn while resting in these Halls, I shall permit an interview between you for an hour or two, so that you may, perchance, learn what he has gained."

Quietly, Thangrod murmured, "I would like that."

Námo nodded. "If this goes as well as I hope, it _can_ be arranged for you to have an interview, or a few, with Master Aragon."

Thangrod said, "Master Aragon is quite an adept teacher. Perhaps, this time, I will attend his lesson."

"It would benefit you greatly, if you did," Námo agreed. "Further... Should Tarmafuin bring Curufin to a state where either of them will be worthy to be reborn, perhaps we can reconsider terms, and a meeting between the three of you may occur."

Thangrod gratefully acknowledged, "Thank you for your mercy in allowing me a chance to reconsider my ways, my Lord." He was quiet for a moment, and he jerked his head as he realized that the Vala just gave the possible option of seeing Curufin again.

"Until the End of Days is a long time, my Lord. Might I have the opportunity to visit with _all_ of the sons of Fëanor?"

Námo stroked his chin. "If they have made significant progress, and seeing you will not damage their growth to becoming better _fëar_ on their way to being cleansed and rested and preparing to be reborn, it is a distinct possibility."

Thangrod winced at the description of himself being a damaging influence and tainted. Still, he needed to know. "Are _all_ of them to be reborn?"

"All of them have the potential." The _fëa_ smiled with the comfort that the precious sons of his beloved Prince were not lost.

Námo smirked. "Ironically, Maedhros, who has been the last to die, will most probably be the first to be reborn."

Thangrod was cheered by this idea. He had already asked so much. Still, he very hesitantly asked, "My Lord, would it be possible for me to visit Fëanor?"

Námo frowned. "I am not yet certain. If I can be certain that Fëanor will not poison the progress _you_ shall make, then perhaps."

The elf was very surprised. "Thank you, my Lord. You are very merciful, and most generous."

The Doomsman smiled. Perhaps it would be possible for this particular _fëa_ to change, to repent, and to grow. If this was possible, then perhaps he may lessen the _fëa_'s sentence. The elf was right: 'Until the End of Days' _wa_s a very long time. But that was a thought for another day, and not necessarily to be shared at this time.

Námo said gently, "You are welcome. I will leave you to your contemplation. If you will excuse me, refreshments will be brought to you."

A/N: The Maiar clad in blue are a reference to the Blue Wizards Tolkien mentioned in passing in an essay in _The Unfinished Tales_ on the Istari. According to the essay, it is unknown what purpose the Blue Wizards served or what became of them. However, at least one of them was supposed to serve Mandos. Regardless, no note was made of Tolkien's purpose for them.

Miriam and I decided that both Blue Wizards served Mandos. We also decided to give them a purpose; as such, we now know their task in Middle-earth!

Glossary

_adan_ – (Sindarin) Human.

_fëa_ – (S.) spirit. pl. _fëar_.

Maiar – angelic spirits of the same race as the Valar, only less powerful. The known examples are Sauron and the Five Wizards, or Istari, of whom only three were named in published works: Saruman, Gandalf, and Radagast.

Melkor – (Quenya) He Who Arises in Might. Morgoth's name prior to his theft of the Silmarils.

Ost-in-Edhil – Celebrimbor's capital. Danny Phantom visited this city in "A Ghost in Middle-earth."

Valar – a powerful Race of beings. They are akin to Maiar in the same way that archangels are akin to angels.

_yeni_ – (S.) Long years. One _yen_ is 144 solar years.


End file.
